


All I Want for Christmas is a Summer Holiday

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas/New Year fic, Dakin has PTSD from family Christmas, M/M, Scripps is just chilling out with friends like a normal person, warnings for language and Dakin being Dakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: In which Dakin has been made to do Christmas and fancies a moan





	All I Want for Christmas is a Summer Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> I'm making cliches of my own headcanons, Irwin would be disappointed, but he's not in this so fuck it.

 

 

 

“I’m glad it’s all over.” Dakin opens his post-Christmas-catch-up with Scripps over a pint, as he lounges in an armchair.

 

The choice of pub is Scripps’s. The place is tiny, like the pubs back in Oxford, and the dark beams are attractively strung with fairy lights, their warm white light giving the entire snug a comforting glow. The place even has a real fire and they’ve managed to bag two armchairs right next to it. It’s still early and the place is thronged with families, keen to get out of the house in the post-Christmas wind-down.

 

“It can’t have been that bad.” Scripps drawls from his seat opposite, sprawled in the low seat, his legs somehow everywhere at once so that Dakin has to keep his feet tucked under his own seat

 

“We had both of our families round. I haven’t had a minute to myself in a week, it’s a relief to go back to work. Tom basically had a nervous breakdown – not that I blame him – in spite of that he says it’s the easiest family Christmas he remembers.”

 

“I find that remark somewhat insensitive.”

 

“Sorry, I thought Pos was over that now.”

 

“He is. That doesn’t stop it being insensitive.”

 

“I’m scared to open my mouth these days.”

 

“Honestly, you should be. What went wrong?”

 

“Nothing went wrong, his parents are just fucking insufferable, his nephew is annoying and _loud_ and his brother-in-law has about as much personality as a wet crisp packet, which is a darn sight more than his father.”

 

“Why did you invite them, then?”

 

“Everyone else has done their time, we couldn’t avoid it any longer, and then Tom guilted me into inviting my parents too”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I had to have them round, of course”

 

“I meant for Christmas, twat face.”

 

Dakin shrugs “just… Christmas stuff”

 

“David did our place up, it looks gorgeous, lights everywhere, inside, outside: the lot – we decided a tree was too much hassle for the flat but I never expected the effort he put in, I got home the other week to find it all done”

 

“That’s thrilling, Scrippsy, you should put it in your column” Dakin drawls.

 

Scripps wouldn’t put it past Dakin to have limited his entire Christmas preparations to tying a bow around his dick. “What did you do then? Bit of tinsel stuck to the doorbell?”

 

“Course not, we had to impress the family, didn’t we?”

 

“Of course” How could he forget Dakin’s limitless drive to impress?

 

“So you got Tom to do it all?”

 

“You’ve got to be joking me!” Dakin shudders “As if I’d let him anywhere near my house”

 

“It’s his house too”

 

Dakin doesn’t even acknowledge this fact. “Tom’s got about as much taste as a dead hedgehog! I did it!” He exclaims, shuffling with indignation.

 

Scripps raises a sceptical eyebrow. “You did?”

 

“Well, I paid someone to decorate the place, it’s the same thing”

 

“God forbid you should have to put up a Christmas tree with your own delicate hands. Did you pay someone to do the cooking and all?”

 

“Nah, Tom did that” Dakin swigs at his pint, apparently missing the sarcasm.

 

“Of course he did”

 

“Well, it was for his family!”

 

“And yours”

 

“That’s different, I only invited them because didn’t think they’d accept. Dad usually has a phobia if he goes as far as Derbyshire”

 

Scripps has long since ceased to be horrified by anything Dakin says. He does, however, still occasionally wonder what it is he sees in Dakin that makes them such close and enduring friends.

 

“Are the two of you still speaking?” Scripps asks with a wry smile.

 

“Me and Tom? Why wouldn’t we be?”

 

“Then you had a good Christmas. Stop moaning.”

 

“It saved me from having to spend time in Sheffield or Shit-hole-on-sea I suppose. How was your multicultural Jewsus festival? Or whatever it is you do.”

 

Scripps shakes his head. “Jewsus? Really?”

 

Dakin shrugs in acknowledgement that it’s hardly his sharpest witticism.

 

“It was busy, thanks for asking. Went back up north for Hanukkah, David spent it with his mum in the care home. I went along for moral support but I didn’t go along with him, naturally.”

 

“Naturally. Wouldn’t want to kill her now.”

 

Scripps gives him a stern look that Dakin has long since been immune to.

 

“She doesn’t know who I am anymore and it upsets her. Upsets them both. So I helped Mum with some last minute Christmas shopping, I think Mum was glad of the company. Then a couple of weeks later we went back up there and stayed for Christmas. It was nice to have time mostly together as a family. Dad did a turkey, Boxing Day we went to my brother’s and gave the kids their presents. It was lovely”

 

It looks like he’s sincere, Dakin marvels.

 

“Glad somebody enjoyed it.”

 

“You’re such a misery guts. It’s nice to have kids about at Christmas! It’s magical for them.”

 

“Yeah, smearing God-knows-what on the furniture and charging about breaking things and shouting at the top of their lungs: Magical! Especially when they’re joined by a miserable old witch.”

 

“You can’t call his mum a miserable old witch!”

 

“Why not? I have to put up with a year’s worth of pent-up homophobia without saying anything, I think once she’s gone I’m entitled to say what I like.”

 

Scripps rolls his eyes.

 

“The idea of you complaining about experiencing homophobia is frankly hilarious, after all the shit you gave Pos”

 

“That was years ago, and it was all fond”

 

 _“Fond_ homophobia??”

 

“He knew it was fond!”

 

Scripps frankly disagrees and purses his lips in disapproval until Dakin drops his eyes to his drink. It’s the closest he’s likely to get to an admission of guilt. Scripps drops it and picks up the dropped thread of conversation.

 

“You can’t call her a miserable old witch because she’s Tom’s mum and you’ll upset him.”

 

“Which is why I’m saying it to you, in the pub, where he can’t hear, Einstein.”

 

“I think I see why he found the whole thing so stressful.”

 

“He’s fine.” Dakin sprawls against the leather back of the chair, smirking. “I unwound him.”

 

“You need a cigar to complete the pimp look, if that’s what you’re going for.”

 

Dakin just grins.

 

“I get the picture. Any chance you can stop being obscenely smug now?”

 

“Sometimes it’s appropriate to be smug. Giving someone the sort of screaming orgasm that makes him forget his own name is one of them.”

 

“Stu, please! I wish to know no more about your sex life!”

 

“God, you’re such a prude.”

 

“I am _not_ a prude!” Scripps insists, feeling a pink flush creeping down his collar.

 

“What’s the problem then? It’s all men’s talk, it’s not even that you’re a stranger to the guy-on-guy stuff.”

 

“The **problem** is the years I spent as an unwilling listener to your every sexual encounter. I have had enough of it.”

 

“You used to like hearing about my encounters” Dakin waggles his eyebrows.

 

Scripps carries on without acknowledging him. There is no point in explaining that there’s a vast difference between the opinions of a sexually confused eighteen-year-old virgin and the same man at the age of thirty in a happily committed relationship – he wouldn’t understand. Somehow Dakin himself never changes.

 

“And – and this is the crucial point – that Tom used to be my history teacher.”

 

“He used to be **my** history teacher.”

 

“Yes but your attitude towards that is not normal. It certainly wasn’t at the time. I remember.”

 

“See: Prude.”

 

Scripps doesn’t answer, but returns to his drink. Having Dakin as his oldest friend has taught him when he’s better off simply conceding defeat and moving on.

 

“How is your mother?” He asks, changing the subject. Scripps has always quite liked Mrs Dakin, from whom Stuart inherited the majority of his personality.

 

“She’s fine, same as ever. Warming to Tom quite a bit actually. She got him a pair of socks”

 

“Wow. That’s been what?”

 

“Six years. Thinks he needs mothering, I suspect” Dakin nods wisely and Scripps tries not to laugh.

 

“I took her out to the West End. You ever seen Les Miserables? It’s a pile of shit, I think you’d like it.”

 

“I have. Pos took me last year for my birthday. I thought it was great. Did your mum enjoy it?”

 

“She thought it was wonderful. Got pissed afterwards and sang half the show in the pub”

 

Scripps joins in Dakin’s laughter; he can imagine the scene and wonders whether Dakin chose to sulk in mortified silence or to join in.

 

“I’m surprised you managed to sit still for the whole thing.”

 

“Well,” Dakin shifts, embarrassed. “It was nice for her.”

 

Scripps studies his expression over the top of his glass.

 

“Please tell me that you’re not embarrassed about taking your mum out for the evening, yet fine to talk graphically about your sex life in public?!”

 

“Well, it’s cutesy, isn’t it? Especially if people think you’re gay.”

 

“You **are** gay.”

 

“I know several ladies who can testify otherwise.”

 

“They’re all in old people’s homes by now, though.”

 

“Six years, you cunt! Not the hundred years war!”

 

“Feels like it sometimes, with the pair of you.”

 

“Dick. My parents are proud of me apparently, for ‘settling down’. Didn’t think I could do it from the sound of it.”

 

“We’re all proud of you, Stu.”

 

“Why? has Dakin finally stopped pretending to be straight?” Posner appears behind Scripps’ chair, resting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hi, Love. something like that” Scripps greets his partner with a kiss.

 

Dakin pulls a face of disgust and turns away.

 

“Happy new year” Posner beams at Dakin by way of hello “I’ve come to drag him away”

 

“How come?”

 

“You’ve been in the pub for hours and we have a party to go to”

 

“Oh” Dakin says, deflated

 

“Dakin’s hiding until his in-laws have left” Scripps explains, smiling up at David who is hinting heavily in his refusal to sit down or remove his coat or scarf.

 

“He’ll have to hide by himself, I have a date with a sexy literary genius”

 

“There you are then, Scrippsy, you can stay, after all. Pos’s got plans”

 

“Sorry Dakin,” Posner smiles sweetly “we’ll have to leave you drinking alone, but I expect you’re used to it”

 

“Fuck you”

 

“No chance, mate”

 

Dakin gives him the finger and Pos continues to smile like a cherub.

 

Scripps is drinking up already.

 

“I’m not hiding” Dakin asserts moodily, before downing the remains of his own drink. “Anyway, they have gone, I just need a break from all the Christmas crap. Hang on I’ll walk out with you”

 

“Grinch” Posner grins, handing Scripps his coat.

 

“It’s nearly over, Dakin” Scripps promises him “You’ll soon be back to hobnobbing with tax avoiders and bagging free trips to the south of France”

 

“I fucking hope so, mum’s threatened to invite us up to Sheffield in the new year.” He shudders.

 

They say goodbye outside and Dakin watches as his oldest friends walk away together down the dark chilly street, arm in arm (because Pos has always been a brave little fucker - braver than Dakin, certainly). Their laughter echoes down the road after them.

 

Dakin has his own New Year's Eve party to attend but if he’s honest he’d rather be at home with Tom, curled up together on the couch under a blanket – not that he would ever admit it for fear of sounding a sad old bastard. Not that it matters as Tom is currently celebrating with his ghastly family about two hundred miles away.

 

Pulling his mobile from his pocket he scrolls through his contacts with numb fingers and dashes off a text.

 

<<Happy New Year babe, See you on the other side>>

 

He takes a minute to watch his breath coming out as vapour against the black sky that lies like a blanket underneath the Christmas lights. He’s long since given up smoking: it’s much more fashionable to be healthy now, but there are some times, like right now, when he really misses it.

 

Tom’s reply is back in seconds; the party must be excruciating.

 

<<Drunk already? You’re about 5 hours early if you didn’t notice. And don’t call me babe>>

 

<<Yes sir ;) >> He replies

 

<<Happy New Year, cheeky fucker>>

 

Dakin pockets the phone and huddles further into his coat. He wonders if the stars would be visible if it weren’t for all the festive lights.

 

“Roll on summer” He mutters to himself as he hails a cab.


End file.
